Polyphonic Exophilia

Interview With Polyphonic Exophilia

SBS:  Welcome to our pages! Whether you’ve been here with us in some way before, or you’re brand-new to the site, it’s probably best to get an introduction from you so that we get everyone on the same page to start. Tell us a little bit about the history of your music, and what’s happening with it lately!?!

PPXP:  Since we started the PPXP project we have spread like some weird mutation of the coronavirus.  The whole concept was based loosely on an idea to create something wild and free — a collective of weirdos creating without compromise.  But SBS has been a part of this process since the very start — so we won’t waste time looking back.

In Polyphonic Exophilia we are currently four core members with the latest addition of Churrogreen.  Churro was a guest musician on ABRACADABRA, but this versatile and brilliant musician just kept inspiring and challenging us until he became a natural part of our collective.  Right now, we are in the later stages of production on our third studio album — this one with a message that we feel fits the contemporary — a message of resistance against authoritarianism.  We also plan to release a single first, to introduce the album — the single will be called “Make Truth Dangerous Again.”  We are really looking forward to introducing this new material, but we will not push the process — realistically, maybe we will be ready in late summer or early fall.

SBS:  Let’s talk about the before and after of where you’re currently at. What’s something about the music that you’re making now that you don’t think you could have done five years ago, and what’s something you think you’ll be able to do with your music five years from now that you can’t do today? How have you grown as an artist/band, and what steps do you take to continue your artistic evolution?

PPXP:  Five years ago, we were just starting to understand the full scope of what Polyphonic Exophilia could be.  Back then, our jam sessions were more about exploring possibilities — feeling out each other’s rhythms, textures, and instincts.  What we couldn’t do then that we can now is really trust that shared intuition to guide complex improvisations without fear of losing our bearings.  We have certainly grown and evolved through the many collaborative projects we have taken on.  Most of our collaborations were truly based on random encounters on Instagram and some few exceptions where we had an idea and went looking for a specific type of artist.  The interplay between structure and spontaneity feels second nature now, and that’s something only time, collaboration, and a lot of shared sonic risk could cultivate.

We are not at all embarrassed to admit that another significant influence is the scrutiny from Jeremy of SBS (This should be a fun and interesting meta-situation in your writing).  In a not so distant past music critics played a sometimes pivotal role in shaping how bands developed their sound, image, and/or trajectory.  We certainly recognize the written music review as an artform in its own regard.  As the music connoisseur he is he can taste the subtle nuances of ingredients, but still have the integrity and straightforwardness to tell you it tastes like piss if it does.  Although we have never adjusted our songwriting or become less exploratory based on the rigorous scrutiny of Jer, we have undoubtedly needed an external critical voice to rein us in when we have ventured “too far” in our musical exploration.  Jeremy is our canary in the gold mine.

As for our evolution — it comes from always being in conversation with discomfort.  We constantly challenge each other, introducing constraints, opening new sonic ventures, or collaborating with artists outside our genre or discipline.  The introduction of Churrogreen into the mix has definitely been a valuable addition in this regard — both musically and conceptually — we have never been afraid to transcend borders, but the regular creative exchanges defying time zones and continents have been a positive challenge.  We’re constantly absorbing and exploring.  The ethos of exophilia — a love of the unknown — keeps us growing, keeps us honest.  We never want to be too comfortable, because comfort rarely leads to art that surprises anyone.

Looking ahead five years, we see ourselves blurring even more boundaries and exploring even further.  Honestly — the vision isn’t tied to a specific destination, because Polyphonic Exophilia was never built around traditional milestones.  We’re not in this to climb some industry ladder.  We’re in this to keep the experiment alive, to keep evolving, and most importantly — to keep connecting with the bold explorers who’ve made this journey worthwhile.

In five years, we see deeper collaboration — bringing more artists, visual storytellers, and experimental minds into the fold.  The core of what we do — improvisation — lends itself naturally to hybrid formats.  We also see growing our international community.  The idea that people from Tokyo to São Paulo to Berlin to New York are tuning into our weird universe is still mind blowing to us.  We want to lean into that — more cross-cultural exchanges, more collabs with musicians and creators from outside our immediate orbit, especially those working on the edges of genre and form.

On a more grounded note, we hope to keep building a sustainable platform — not just to release music, but to nurture creative freedom for ourselves and others through our independent label PPXP records.  Definitely something that keeps weird, soulful, improvisational music alive and well in a world that often values polish over presence.  But most of all, in five years we want to still be us.  Still uncompromising.  Still weird.  Still free.  Still surprising ourselves in the studio.  Still growing.  Still earning the trust of new listeners who say: I don’t know what this is exactly, but I’m into it.  And if our listeners are still there with us — curious, fearless, dancing at the edge of the unknown — then we’ll know we’ve made it.  That’s where we see ourselves.  Right where the music takes us.

SBS:  If you were to assess the overall health of the independent music scene right now, what would you say? What are the positives and the negatives about the current state of independent music, and what do you feel like artists & bands can do to contribute to the community & help it grow beyond the music being made? If you’re not actively looking to listen to the music of other independent artists/bands, is it really all that fair to expect anyone would listen to yours? How do you help the scene around you grow?

PPXP:  As a mix of Gen X and “elder millennials” I guess we share the views of many other musicians and music consumers who can remember the time before the internet.  That is, a view on the music scene today as a paradoxical landscape of democratization and exploitation, where individual identity is both a source of artistic empowerment and a target for commercial extraction.  While the normalization of streaming platforms and social media have made it easier for artists to release music, these same systems are increasingly co-opted by corporate forces that undermine artistic autonomy, artistic integrity and long-term sustainability.  It’s not all bad, and everything wasn’t better before the internet, but the main problems in the music scene today, from our perspectives, are:

1. A transition from music as a social and collective process where you create music with your friends in a band, to a worship of narcissistic personas built around personal brands that favors commercial streamlining over collective depth and experimentation.
2. The obvious devaluation of music on streaming platforms with minuscule payouts per stream, algorithmic discovery favoring established names or heavily playlisted tracks, and artists being forced into a grind of constant content production to stay relevant. This emphasis on quantity over quality has strangled the creative process into retention metric conformity.
3. In the current scene the artist is no longer just the creator, they are the product, the marketer as well as the unpaid laborer struggling to make ends meet. In this environment we have seen the rise of predatory commercial schemes that offer “promotion” in the form of playlist placements, Instagram boosts, TikTok influencers, press coverage and so on.  These schemes rarely deliver lasting impact, but is designed to extract cash from struggling musicians desperate for traction.  The result is a parasitic ecosystem feeding off independent musicians who are already bearing the burden of production, distribution, and self-marketing.  At the end of the day those with the most money, not the best music, gain attention.

The music industry today feels more crowded but less meaningful, more connected but less supportive, where artists are expected to be entrepreneurs in a rigged game, performers in an attention economy, and consumers of their own ambition.  We have no silver bullet to fix this, but I guess if artists at least can find solidarity with each other, reclaim the significance of the social creativity of the band or collective, and seek out or build ethical, community-based platforms for promotion and distribution, then maybe music can move from being merely content in a digital marketplace to reclaiming its place as cultural and emotional art.  Big shout out to our distributor DIGER DISTRO who literally are front line fighters in the great war for music as an art.  We also try to do our part — that`s why we started our independent label PPXP records, where we hope to cultivate and bring forth new interesting artists.

SBS:  What do you consider to be the biggest accomplishment or achievement you’ve had with your music to-date? How do you personally measure your own success – is that something that even can be measured? Is it awards, accolades, chart position…or is your definition of success based on something entirely different? Should success, however you define it, be something that artists are continually focused on – or is success something that naturally occurs in the course of doing what you love to do?

PPXP:  For us, the biggest accomplishment isn’t something you can hang on a wall or post on Instagram.  Our greatest achievement is simply survival and growth — as a small, strange, Jazz-Funk collective from rural Norway that’s built everything on raw improvisation.  The fact that we’ve been able to not only exist, but actually thrive with an international fan base is something we hold with deep gratitude and pride.  From the start, this project has been about exploration — following the music wherever it wants to go, without compromise.  That’s a risky path, especially when the world tends to reward predictability.  So for us, success isn’t about accolades — it’s about connection.  It’s about that moment when someone across the world hears a strange groove, a chaotic breakdown, or a sensual improvisation — and gets it.  When someone not only listens, but joins us on this journey with no clear destination.  That, to us, is success: inspiring bold explorers to step into the unknown with us.  Every time someone new becomes part of this strange little orbit we’ve built, it’s a win.

We measure success by staying true to what we do — and still growing.  It’s a balancing act: creating freely and somehow still resonating with people.  And that doesn’t happen by chasing success; it happens by loving what you do, doing it deeply, and doing it honestly.  If you do that, and do it consistently, then success — however you define it — tends to follow as a byproduct, not a goal.  We focus on sound.  On freedom.  On community.  On the weird magic that happens when people listen with open ears.  And the fact that people do?  That they’ve joined us, and stayed with us?  That’s the real reward.  We absolutely love them for it.

SBS:  When you’re working on something brand-new, and something about it just doesn’t feel like it’s coming together the way that you think it should, how do you know when it’s time to give up on it, or how do you know that it’s time to dig in even harder and find a way to make it work?  Are there distinct red flags you can hear when something’s not working? What are the signs you look for that tell you to stop forcing the material? What would actually encourage you to keep going with the process instead?

PPXP:  Our process is pretty open-ended, but over time, a couple of core approaches have naturally emerged.  Sometimes it all starts with a rigorous jam session — we’ll just lock ourselves in and play with no particular destination in mind, trusting the collective intuition to guide us.  From those sessions, we often extract a strong rhythmic or harmonic foundation — a base layer that feels alive and authentic.  That base then becomes fertile ground for other musicians to improvise over, either in the moment or later in the studio — or across the ether from Venezuela.  It’s almost like planting a seed and then watching how others nurture it into something unexpected.

Other times, one of us comes in with a more developed idea — a riff, a groove, a chord progression, or even a rough track.  That becomes a launching pad.  From there, we deconstruct, stretch, twist, and reimagine it through a collaborative, improvisational lens.  Nothing is sacred in those moments; even the original idea can get completely transformed.  Improvisation is central to everything we do — it’s the divergent phase, and to us, it’s the most important part of the creative process.  That’s when all possibilities are on the table, and we deliberately avoid thinking too much about genre or structure.  It’s a space for exploration, for making mistakes and running with them, for letting emotion and instinct lead.

Eventually, the material starts to converge — and we don’t force that part.  We try to let each track find its own natural shape.  Sometimes it takes a few sessions, sometimes it snaps right away.  But when the music starts revealing a form that feels organic — when sections start falling into place without us having to overanalyze — that’s when we know we’re on the right track.  That convergence phase is less about control and more about listening.  Listening to the piece, to each other, to the atmosphere.  Our best work often comes from that dance between chaos and cohesion — between giving the music room to breathe and knowing when to give it gentle direction.

This open-ended, improvisational process also means we end up with a lot of material — sometimes beautiful chaos, sometimes just chaos.  It’s not uncommon for us to have dozens of pieces, fragments, and half-evolved ideas growing in parallel.  Some are layered and complex; others are raw sketches with just a kernel of something interesting.  It can be exhilarating, but also a bit overwhelming.  At times, it’s like tending to a wild overgrown garden — you never quite know what’s going to bloom and what’s going to wither.  Because, not every track survives.  We’ve learned to accept that.  There’s a kind of natural selection at play in our process.  The tracks that keep pulling us back, the ones we can’t stop thinking about or feel compelled to revisit — those are the ones that eventually emerge into the light of a release.  The others…well, they quietly die in darkness.  And that’s okay.  Sometimes a piece serves its purpose just by leading us to another one.

Where things get especially demanding is in the curation phase — shaping these individual discoveries, with all their different moods and textures, into a coherent tracklist.  That’s where the divergent energy needs to meet some kind of narrative or emotional arc.  It’s not just about choosing the “best” tracks; it’s about choosing the ones that belong together.  What’s the journey?  What’s the emotional temperature across the record?  What spaces do we want to take people through?  That part is less about improvisation and more about listening deeply — to the material, to the contrasts and tensions between tracks, to the silences in between.  It’s a delicate balancing act.  You want enough variety to keep it alive, but enough coherence to make it feel like one story.  That’s often the most demanding and deliberate part of the whole process.  So in many ways, the release you hear is just the tip of the iceberg.  Beneath it lies an ocean of sound — experiments, sketches, ideas that didn’t make it but shaped what did.

SBS:  One of the points of general consensus in the art of making music, is that we all get our sound from somewhere…we hear what we like, then more often than not, we take tiny pieces of what we love to find our own voice & approach to go on and make music in our own way. Essentially, what I’m saying is that it’s absolutely natural to be inspired by other artists/bands, and almost every artist/band ends up having that inspiration show up in their own work in some way, shape, or form. What the real key is though, is retaining your own organic perspective – you still wanna be original too, right? So how do you go about doing that? Are there artists or bands that you know have been an influence on your style & sound? How were you able to incorporate that influence without becoming too noticeably derivative and still be yourself? Should we embrace and celebrate our influences more than we do? It’s almost like we try not to admit influences exist in the pursuit of being original, but it’s like, bruh…if it’s there, we can hear it. We all borrow something from those that came before us to some extent, don’t we?

PPXP:  Yeah, absolutely — there’s no denying that we all stand on the shoulders of giants.  Our sound is, in many ways, a living collage of the artists, movements, and raw sonic environments that have moved us, past and present.  We’re not afraid to say it: our work is influenced by a lot, but it’s what we do with those influences that defines us.  We love that hybrid territory where inspiration meets innovation.  You can hear echoes of Vulfpeck in our rhythmic tightness and playful minimalism.  The relentless creativity and genre-morphing madness of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard?  Big yes.  From The J.B.’s we’ve learned about groove as a language in itself.  Grover Washington Jr., Donald Byrd, and Kamasi Washington inform a lot of our textures and our approach to flow in a jam, especially in our more soul-inflected or spiritually leaning moments.  There’s also deep love for artists like Khruangbin — their ability to build mood and atmosphere with restraint resonates with us.  And then there’s Frank Zappa — a beacon of artistic freedom.  He’s a reminder that complexity and absurdity can coexist with purpose.  The polyrhythmic fire of Fela Kuti, the earthy trance grooves of Ali Farka Touré, the cosmic jazz of Sun Ra, the raw funk of Levi Ekemezie.  We’re also shaped by more niche and cult territory: the abstract grandeur of Magma, the motorik drive and controlled chaos of Can, the intricate electronic-jazz webs of Jaga Jazzist.  And we draw as much from forgotten Lagos street recordings between 1972 and 1983 as we do from the Progressive, Jazz, Krautrock, and Funk scenes of ’70s Europe and the US.

So yes, it’s all there, somewhere in the DNA of our tracks.  But we don’t try to replicate, we aim to channel that energy into something that feels genuinely us.  The key, we think, is improvisation — it’s our divergence engine.  Because even if you’re using similar sonic materials, the moment you open up a space for raw, unfiltered expression, that’s where originality begins to surface.  Our process doesn’t let us be derivative, because it’s too unpredictable.  You can’t imitate something while also reacting instinctively to what’s happening in real time.  We actively resist the pressure to be “original” in that calculated, branding-heavy way.  We’d rather be honest.  And honestly, we’re music nerds.  We dig, we borrow, we absorb.  But we also transform.  Should we celebrate our influences more?  Absolutely. There’s no shame in learning from what’s brilliant.  The danger comes only when you’re trying to wear someone else’s identity instead of using their spirit to find your own.

SBS:  Has there ever been a time where you wrote something inside one of your songs…maybe it’s a lyrical line, or maybe it’s a riff of some kind…something that you did, where you surprised yourself? I like to think we all have a moment or two where we can stand back and be amazed by something we created, and appreciate the fact that maybe, just maybe, we exceeded our own expectations of what we thought we could accomplish – you know what I mean? Get as specific as you can so the fans out there know what they should be paying attention to when they hear it – what’s your favorite thing that you’ve written on the inside of one of your songs, and why does this particular piece resonate so much to you?

PPXP:  Many songs come from jamming in the studio, for hours, always recording, and we have some live moments where we just lose ourselves in the music and become one with it.  It’s a lovely feeling, something out of this world, and it is these moments we truly live for.  And then when we listen back to those tapes, we can hear more amazing ideas that will become songs, but at that time of recording, we might not understand it.  Like “First glimpse…” from Deep Diver, there was something transcendental with that song, and we built it more in studio through many takes, and we think it became a beautiful piece of music.  Maybe some can hear traces to Alice Coltrane and the Spiritual Jazz-movement.  The same goes for “Staring at the sun.”  It was a long jam, and we found the core of the song from these long sessions and just knew it was gold.  Then we also built more on it through jamming on top of the basic take, and some of those solos are really great.  It always comes down to the transcendental cosmic musical feeling, and those songs are good examples of this.

SBS:  I’ve been having a lot of great debates lately about whether or not everybody that’s making music has the right to be heard…and you’d probably be surprised by how different people seem to feel about this issue. I know where I stand on it, and I think you can all probably get an idea of what my position would be from this free interview we’re doing here & the way we run things at sleepingbagstudios…but regardless, I’m putting this question out there to you, because I’m interested in YOUR perspective. Just because you’ve made a song, does that mean people should listen? If your answer is yes, do your best to explain why you feel that way & why we should make a sincere effort to listen to the music of others. If your answer is no, explain why you feel that way, but also explain why people should still be listening to your music if that’s the case – what would make your music the exception, and not follow the rule? Is there any value to an idea that’s not finished, or a song in its demo stages, or maybe something that’s not recorded in a top-shelf studio or with good equipment – somebody still took the time to make that song to the best of their ability with the means they had to create it – should that be listened to, or not?

PPXP:  Music, like all art, is a form of expression — personal, cultural, emotional, and political.  Denying someone the right to be heard is, in effect, denying them the right to express themselves.  To say only certain people “deserve” to be heard risks flattening the diversity and imposing dominant cultural norms on what is, at its heart, a radically pluralistic art form.  Music is experienced in deeply personal ways.  A song that might sound unpolished or strange to one person could resonate powerfully with another.  What’s “bad” or “unworthy” to one audience may be vital and affirming to another.  Therefore, limiting who gets to be heard assumes a narrow, often elitist or commercial, standard of value that doesn’t reflect music’s full cultural and emotional range.

There is however a distinction between the right to create music, and the right, or entitlement to demand an audience.  Everyone should have the freedom of expression and to make music, but expecting that every song or performance deserves public attention or respect undermines the value of the craft and effort.  Just as in other arts, not all expressions are equally developed, meaningful, or relevant.  We live in an era of content saturation.  The sheer volume of music being released daily can overwhelm listeners and drown out voices with more skill, depth, or originality.  If everyone has an equal claim to attention, important or innovative work might be lost in the noise.  Algorithms and platforms often amplify the loudest or most provocative voices — not necessarily the most artistically compelling.  Not every voice merits amplification simply because it exists.

We’re Polyphonic Exophilia, and we don’t believe that we have the right to be heard.  No one owes us their time, their ears, or their attention.  That’s not how art — or life — works.  Polyphonic Exophilia, means a love for outside sounds — for the strange and dissonant.  We pull from Jazz, Funk, Psych, Rock, Soul, Folk and whatever else drips from our collective subconscious.  We’re not packaging sound for passive consumption.  We don’t pretend to belong in the mainstream current — or even care to.  Our music is improvised, unpredictable, and refuses to resolve on cue.  And that means nobody owes us a listen.  But still — we think people should listen.  Not because we’re selling them comfort, but because we’re opening a portal.  In a world obsessed with perfection and polish, we offer something messier: curiously, imperfectly, and with a lot of trust in chaos.  Every track we make is a living moment — an experiment, a conversation, a rupture in the expected.  One minute we’re deep in an ambient space, in the next we’re channeling something raw and almost violent.  We build grooves and then dissolve them.  We lay down rhythms that wobble like they’re questioning their own time signature.  This isn’t background music — it’s participation.  We invite our listeners into the space with us: not to stand back and judge the canvas, but to be part of the mess, the movement, the pulse.

SBS:  There are ups and downs in the dynamics of almost every album we listen to, with very few exceptions. Even those exceptions, probably still come down to more of a personal preference about what we enjoy about music and how we personally hear it, rather than anything being completely and totally “perfect” – you know what I mean? Does an album actually need to have some kind of up/down dynamics in terms of what’s appealing to the masses in order for the best of the best songs in a lineup to be fully appreciated? Wouldn’t every artist & band avoid the ‘down’ side (less accessible/less popular for example) if they could? Does the ‘down’ side represent something else perhaps, like the story of an album or journey of an artist? Is the ‘up’ side of a record as potent or noticeable if it doesn’t have a ‘down’ side to go with it? Would a completely balanced album somehow be boring if it didn’t have the ups/downs that most have? Do we HAVE to like every single song on a record for it to be considered complete? Are the dynamics of an album something anyone can really steer in the direction they want to, or are all artists & bands simply going with the strongest material they have created at the time?

PPXP:  No album is perfect and maybe that’s exactly the point.  What feels like a “down” moment on an album often has more to do with personal preference than objective quality.  One person’s skippable track is another person’s secret favorite, and some tracks are experienced differently depending on your mood and the context we listen in.  That’s the beauty of a full-length LP it is a journey through a landscape full of shadows, valleys, quiet corners.  Without those, the high points would lose their contrast — and maybe their power.  In that sense “ups” and “downs” could be essential for an album to breathe.  A record that’s all bangers might grab attention fast, but it rarely leaves room for depth or longevity.  Without moments of tension, atmosphere, or experimentation, the peaks start to feel flat — like everything’s shouting for attention at the same volume.  To a lot of us —  we tend to lean into those “down” spaces.  The quieter tracks, the weirder ones, the rough sketches or abstract interludes — they often carry the emotional weight, the vulnerability, the space for reflection.  Too much symmetry, too much predictability, and the experience becomes static — there has to be some kind of evolution, tension and release, surprise.  So we don’t have to love every track, some albums feel more complete because not every track hits the same way.  They take risks.  They show different sides.  Completion doesn’t mean uniformity — it means coherence, intention, journey.  Albums need their ups and downs — not just for variety, but for honesty.  Because no real journey is flat.

We can’t really steer your journey, and we don’t really want to either.  Most of us are documenting where we were at a given moment, both creatively and emotionally.  We might not have control, but we do make choices — what to include, how to sequence, when to let something raw remain raw.  In our case, the LP format allows space for both structure and chaos.  Some sections are tightly arranged; others are pure improvisation.  And we don’t trim the “unpolished” parts just to keep things sleek — because sometimes that’s where the truth lives.  That’s the kind of listening experience we want to offer.  Not perfection.  Not predictability.  But presence.  Contrast.  And a space for your imagination to roam.  We normally choose instrumental music not because we lack something to say — but because we trust you to say it for yourself.  Words have gravity.  They lock meaning down, define the borders, tell you what to feel and when.  There’s a time for that.  But what we’re after is something looser, more open-ended — something that invites you in as a participant, not just a passive receiver.  Instrumental music is like a written novel compared to a movie.  A film gives you faces, scenes, conclusions.  A book — like our music — hands you a framework and asks your imagination to fill in the rest.  With no lyrics guiding you, you become the narrator.  You shape the story.  Every listener creates their own film, or their our journey, behind closed eyes.  Our albums, are intentionally created as journeys — not a feed-scroll.  And we want you to come along intentionally — not skip from preview to preview, but sit with the weirdness, the warmth, the tension and release.  And on this journey we’d rather hand you a compass than a script.

SBS:  I wanna send out a shout-out to YOU from me personally – I appreciate everyone that has taken the time to talk tunes with me throughout the years, and I appreciate the time YOU have taken with this interview too. Because this one’s a little different in the sense that it’s been sent out to multiple people and is a little more generic in that regard, I have no doubt whatsoever that we probably didn’t get to talk to you about something you wanted to talk about – so let’s fix that! This final space is what we call the SBS Open Floor – a spot where you can say anything else you want to say to the people out there. It can be anything at all…your main websites…something else you want them to know about you and/or your music…your favorite bands in the scene right now…the secret 11 herbs and spices to the Colonel’s secret recipe – you get the idea, and it’s probably best you choose something that suits you rather than take any of my suggestions, but feel free to take the SBS Open Floor for a ride. Whatever it is you want the people to know, now is the prime time for you to tell’em! Thanks again for everything – keep in touch!

PPXP:  Thank you Jeremy, sincerely!  We really appreciate the space to talk music beyond the usual superficial stuff.  So here it is—from Polyphonic Exophilia to whoever’s reading this:

We’re not here to compete for your attention — we’re here to offer you a different experience.  Something less transactional, less polished, and more about discovery, texture, and vibe.  We know our sound isn’t for everyone — it’s for people who want to be participants, not just consumers.  At this point we feel that it’s worth repeating our manifest — written when we started this project — but as relevant today as ever:

Polyphonic Exophilia — The playful name indicates a sexual preference for extraterrestrial polyphonic soundscapes, which is an expression of the members preference for the new, the unexplored and unknown.  We will not attempt to control or even limit the effects of randomness and volatility on the project.  On the contrary, we will embrace change and randomness and let the project evolve in many directions simultaneously.  We want this project to be as exciting and unpredictable for its audience as it is for the participating artists.

Please buy vinyl!  And find our links to everything at www.ppxp.no.  You can also check us out on Instagram @ppxpinsta if you want to stay tuned with the current and future events.  We’re grateful for every single listener who chooses to join our weird, improvised journey with us.

Stay curious.  Stay strange.
Thanks for having us.

All the best,

Polyphonic Exophilia

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